
Class _„:^S^ 5^05 
Book H^^-3l 



Copyright }|°, 



311^ 



COPVRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Far From the Stone 
Streets 

HENRY and HELEN CHADWICK 




'^ H'^ARTI et VeRITATFl Tl 



BOSTON: RICHARD O. BADGER 

1904 



Copyright 1904 by Henry M. Chadwick 
All rights reserved 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 
APR 19 1904 

CoDVrlght Entry 

CLASS CS-' XXc. No. 
5" If s- ! i 

COPY B 






i^^y- 



PRINTED AT 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

BOSTON, U. S. A. 



From these stone streets I would go 
Where the pines' rude blossoms blow; 
Where the zvinds the leaf lids lift, 
Letting sunshine through each rift; 
Where bright brooks keep ceaseless song 
As their foam flecks Hie along; 
Where the outer ocean lies 
Solitary 'neath the skies; 
Where the zvind-built sand dunes lift 
Sun-bleached shoidders, drift on drift. 
Far from tasteless toil to Uy, 
There Vd rest, and Vd be I. 



(HontmtB 



FAR FROM THE STONE STREETS 






Page 


Sleighing ...... 


II 


Winter's Masquerade . . . . 


13 


Exotics ...... 


13 


The Pine's Dream .... 


14 


Ideals Afar ..... 


14 


At Sunset ..... 


15 


Winter Evening .... 


15 


When the Ice goes Out 


16 


Song Sparrows in March . 


17 


Hepaticas ..... 


18 


Lily of the Valley .... 


19 


A May Shower .... 


19 


UVULARIA ..... 


20 


Ultima Thule .... 


21 


The Call ..... 


22 


Anticipation ..... 


22 


The Brook ..... 


23 


The Approach of Summer . 


24 


A Summer Drive .... 


25 


" The Wind is Sighing Through My Latticb 




Bower" ..... 


• 27 


To the East Wind .... 


28 


Rest ...... 


. 30 


The Thunder Storm .... 


• 31 


A Boat Song ..... 


• 32 


In Fern Time .... 


• 33 


A Fandango ..... 


• 34 


Yellow and White Chrysanthemums . 


36 


Looking Off ..... 


. 36 


East Wind in the City 


• 37 


Renewal ..... 


■ 38 









Page 


" Purple Shades of Autumn " . . -39 


At Evening 






40 


October 






40 


The Forest Park 






41 


Despoiled 






41 


By the Sea 






42 


Autumn 






42 


Aurora Borealis 






43 


To Some Neighboring Cedars 






43 


In the Fall 






44 


Thanksgiving Eve 






44 


God and Immortality 






45 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Stepping Stones 






51 


The Torchlight Parade 






. 63 


" Put Him to Death " 






• 65 


A Mystery 






. 66 


Raphael's Cherubs . 






67 


The Ring Nebula 






68 


Hamlet 






68 


Intuitions 






69 


Isolation 






70 


The True Nobility . 






71 


Prince Christian 






71 


The Harp of Judah . 






72 


The Beyond 






IZ 


Man's Mind the Key to the 


Universe 




75 


Awakening 






75 


To the Mount 






76 


The Elf and the Dev^drop 






71 


The Staubbach 






71 


The Annunciation . 






78 


The Word 






83 


The Cripple 






84 


Our Mother's Voice . 






87 



The Man of Sorrows 

What doth Youth Know of Love 

The North to the South . 

On a Portrait of Stanley . 

The Unexpected 

The Orchid 

The Unknown Mathematician 

A Sonnet 



Page 
87 



90 
90 

91 
92 



Jar Jrnm tlf^ Btttm BtntU 



SLEIGHING 

Here are we nestled, warm and snug, 
Within the cutter's perfumed rug. 
And swiftly o'er the light road skim 
Toward the hills that far and dim 
Lie on the cold horizon's rim. 

Away, away ! the snow is white. 
The air is clear, the moon is bright. 
To backward glance the village spires. 
Tipped with their pale up-pointing fires, 
Fade as a holy thought expires. 

Away ! tonight our company 
The spirits of the frost shall be ; 
We'll chase the flying bells whose play 
On moonlit meadows far away 
Is softened to a murmur gay. 

Away through villages that lie 
Like silver jewels, gliding by 
The river's gleaming stream of steel. 
Whose fringe of ice the waves conceal 
That echo back our sleigh bells' peal. 

Here stands a quiet farmhouse ; there 
A stretch of glistening fields lies bare ; 
Here thickets, robed in white array, 
Climb the steep banks, and sharply lay 
Dark shadows o'er our rapid way. 

The shaken trees their crystals fling, 
That shatter with an airy ring ; 
And hark ! a mocking ripple swells 
From where the covered streamlet wells 
And tinkles through its icy cells. 



Away again ! yon pine-trees tall 
Close round us a mysterious wall ; 
Through their great harps the solemn moan 
Of winds is sweeping, long and lone, 
In melancholy minor tone. 

Away through spicy forests, hung 
With mantles by the storm winds flung, 
From out whose solitude the sigh 
Of breezes brings some weird, wild cry. 
To scare us as we glimmer by. 

Ah, see ! the watch fire on the lake. 

Where merry skaters pleasure take ! 

Their voices, as we onward go, 

Die to a light cadenza, low 

As sounds through dreams of music flow. 

The prospect widens ; on before 
Stretches the broad lake's dazzling floor ; 
And far, where pearly vapors rise. 
Shine through a mist the peaceful skies 
And azure hills of paradise. 

The distance shuts like wings behind ; 
Before, it opens silver-lined ; 
The angel of the radiant night 
Leads ever on before our flight. 
And past us stream its robes of light. 



WINTER'S MASQUERADE 

What robe is this that Winter hath put on ? 
Jealous of Spring, the antic-minded wight 
Hath wove a mimic springtime in the night. 
Through gentle groves of mist we gaze at dawn, 
Save these, in place of living green, are white. 
Where'er the eye may turn, pale avenues 
Stretch fairy vistas 'mong the veiled rocks — 
Ghost of the imprisoned Spring, whose beauty 

mocks 
The weighted evergreens and the lone birds. 
'T is useless, Winter ! no soft breeze yet woos — 
No busy hum of voices speaks delight, 
And thy low clouds keep sullen oversight. 
And look! where sunlight bursts, too swift for 

words. 
Thy fair pretending groves with ice flash bright ! 



EXOTICS 

Thou ! I love thee ! cool, dim green and carmine, 
Creamy, pure white and frail pink deep'ning 
down — 
Rare mingling forms and perfumed colors ming- 
ling— 
O sweetest soundless music that can drown 

All feelings save this longing thou dost wake 
Toward — I know not what ! — Art thou a key 

To ope the door of the mysterious Life 

Whose fire leaps into my heart through thee? 

Ah ! now I know the secret of thy power ! 

Poem of Nature ! the Promethean flame — 
The infinite Thought breathes in thy perfect 
beauty. 

And writes on thee the glory of a Name. 

13 



THE PINE'S DREAM 

" A pine-tree standeth lonely, 

And of a palm it dreameth." 

— Heine. 

The pine-tree * * * * is as immortal as 
I am, and perchance will go to as high a heaven." 

— Thoreau. 

It dreams that palm and pine-tree 
Will die ; that winds will wait 

To waft their final perfumes 
To some far, airy state 

Where they will meet and mingle 
Beneath the azure dome, 

Like souls on earth long sundered, 

That find in Heaven one home. 



IDEALS AFAR 

I view the sunlit, snow-encumbered world, 
And in the distance see a treeless hill. 

Upon the hill's white shoulder is a space 

Of shade, thrown from a cloud low-poised and 
still. 

My soul's ideal stands serene and pure. 

But o'er its light there bends a shape of woe, 

Spirit of earthly strife — as yonder shade 
Bedims the lustre of the unsullied snow. 



14 



AT SUNSET 

The snow came down on Saugus, 
And left a wide, white plain — 

The rosy evening tingles 

With the breath of the far, blue main. 

There's laid an ermine mantle 

On distant, pale Nahant, 
Where the purple fires of sunset 

Fall tenderly aslant: 

Fall from the orange glowing 

In the wine-red vault of the west, 

That strikes through bold black lacings 
Of elm-tree boughs at rest. 

Beneath, the farmhouse raises 

Its picturesque silhouette — 
Cold, darker hills sweep onward 

To where the sun has set ; 

And high in the violet ether 

The crescent moon shines clear; 

Dusk is a vesper chanted 

To the heart held still to hear. 



WINTER EVENING 

The_ flames around my birch log flash, and furl 
Their yellow pennants, while weird smoke 
streams whirl. 

Without, the night notes of the frozen rain 
Sound snipping, snapping on the window pane. 



15 



. WHEN THE ICE GOES OUT 

BY THE MERRIMAC 

When the ice goes out, 
The great float rushes, grinds along the shore ; 
Then fragments flocked like dolphins glide to 

sea — 
Swift runs the steely current, quivering cold — 

When the ice goes out. 

When the ice goes out, 
The water flashes o'er its darkling blue, 
And, glad with life renewed, at sunset flushing. 
Answers the stooping sky — O fair the pic- 
ture ! — 

When the ice goes out. 

When the ice goes out. 
Quickens the earth, and sudden gleams of sun- 
shine 
Play o'er the dark pine shores with smiles pro- 
phetic. 
And clouds pile up in April gloom and splendor, 
When the ice goes out. 

When the ice goes out, 
The stark limbs of white birches on the shore — 
All wakening things — reach toward the softened 

sunlight, 
Dreaming of rustling leaves and babbling runnels, 

When the ice goes out. 



i6 



SONG SPARROWS IN MARCH 

New life hath touched the heart of the earth in 
its beating, 
For, down on the marshes wide, 
Where 'neath a soft-flecked sky flows in the 
luminous tide. 
Blossom the pussy-willows, on stems o'er the 
stone walls meeting; 

And clear and clear 
From far and near, 
The thread-like trills of song sparrows a web of 

music are weaving 
Over the marshes wide, far out where the sea is 
heaving. 

Sing on, O luminous tide, from the sea of silver 
flooding ! 
O birds, what means your song? 
Strong is your faith in a dream that Summer 
will come ere long. 
(Sweet the odors of turf and sea breeze and the 
spice the willows fling.) 

Though the east wind blow 
Through flurries of snow. 
From out some place of hiding your undaunted 

eyes will be peering. 
As you wait to fill with music the sunset in its 
clearing. 

Then tenderly over the marshes the amber light 

will be falling, 
Over the sea's blue strip 
Where far on the dim horizon blushes some 

fleeting ship ; 



17 



And flung- out loud and clear the thread-like trills 
will be calling, — 

" Hope hath returned 

And the joy that burned 

In our hearts was not misleading ; for Summer is 

telling her story, 
Sending out messages far and wide in the sun- 
set's glory ! " 



HEPATICAS 

Meek woodland stars ! purple and rose and white, 
Opening your silvery buds in noonday light, 
I welcome the glad messages you bring — 
That Winter's cold yields to the warmth of 

Spring. 
How frail you are ! and yet some quenchless hope 
Leads you to face, on this north-looking slope, 
The chilly air and brown woods yet unstirred 
By whispers that your quicker ears have heard. 
Most like you are to hopes of Heaven that spring 
Within the sinful heart, just wakening. 
Like these bare fields, from out the power of 

death. 
Touched by the Holy Spirit's quickening breath. 
And you, sweet blossoms, in your seeds have slept 
Till Spring her promise to awake you kept, 
Have shaped God's thought of you to leaves and 

flowers 
With mindless patience through the winter hours, 
Till, ere I plucked you, waiting here you stood 
To give me pleasure ! Truly, God is good. 



i8 



LILY OF THE VALLEY 

how fast you grow, 
Dainty little thing! 

Fairy wands all in a row, 
In the tender Spring. 

1 look every day 

In your leaves' cool cells, 
Hoping you have heard Spring say, 
" Now bring out your bells ! " 

Every little heart. 

Robed in moonbeam white, 
Slowly bursts its globe apart 

And opens to the light. 

Then, quite wide awake. 

Each astonished bell 
Gives itself a tiny shake — 

" My ! how sweet I smell ! " 



A MAY SHOWER 

It caught the breath of flowers away 

And dashed it in my face, 

And all the resin buds of May 

Leaped up with jocund hearts that day ; 

The streams whipped foam in shallow pools, 

Where all the air the rain-splash cools, 

And apple blossoms peeped to see 

What spattered them so merrily — 

It was the rain of May. 



19 



The birds set up a warbling shout 

Above the rushing fall; 

Gold dandelions round about 

To wash their faces had come out, 

And colors streaked the rocks, between 

Wet branches weaving mists of green. 

But suddenly there came to me 

The old salt odor of the sea, 

Blown through the rain of May. 



UVULARIA 

Frail woodland beauty ! thou dost spring to meet 

The wandering hamadryad's seeking eye, 

Breathing thy secret of nativity. 

'T is thus she reads her poems, in the leaves 

Of flowers finding all philosophy — 

Sweet books, where perfect law Love's message 

weaves 
In the pure native tongue the heart doth greet. 
How much they hold. Eternity reveals — 
Stars are but letters on the lustrous page — 
Yet this true speech hath such a wondrous gauge, 
One airy sentence, like this blossom here. 
Touches the Author's plan. Age after age, 
Groping for words that shall life's deeps make 

clear. 
Oft in despair by some frail flower kneels. 



20 



ULTIMA THULE 

Far off, where the misty headlands 
Melt into the serene ocean, 
I would fly, — there even motion 
Hath more quiet than my rest. 
Here the sun shines, but a sadness 
Haunts the spring, outweighing gladness. 
While the tree tops weave their laces, 
There, perhaps, are silent places 
Where the empty soul embraces 
The sweet secret of its rest. 
Even now the sea wind's fingers 
Touch my heart, where softly lingers 
Thought of infinite peace — deep feeling 
Wafted from those isles of healing; 
Utmost Isle ! there the vexed spirit 
Seeks the joy it shall inherit. 
So, if I could be uplifted 
And to those far headlands drifted. 
Where the sunshine's gold hath sifted 
Gleams that on the waters rest, — 
Somewhere on those far off headlands, 
Looking on the ceaseless motion 
Of the unending blue of ocean, 
I might find the perfect rest. 



21 



THE CALL 

" The Red Gods call us out and we must go." 

— Kipling. 

Do you know a shady woodland where smooth 
roads go winding through, 
Over which the soft-shod cycles glide and 
gleam ? 
Do you know a country highway where the 
shadows wave and weave, 
Near an old log bridge that spans a spinning 
stream ? 
O 'tis there that I am going, going wheeling 
with my lover, 
And we'll drink from brooks that falter as they 
flow ; 
We shall hear the squirrel chuckle, see the part- 
ridge whir to cover, 
" For the Red Gods call us out and we must 
go." 



ANTICIPATION 

We shall stand on that hill where the pines brush 

the blue, 
And the mountains will lend their grand grace to 

the view ; 
And sweet rest and twilight will bless me and you, 
While the setting sun fashions his flames. 



22 



THE BROOK 

I know where its stream first sees the day, 

Far back in the rockbound wells ; 
And it softly creeps on its sinuous way, 
A thread of light through the pebbles gray. 
Singing — ah, what ? who tells ? 

The wavelet crisps on its widening sea, 

And dancing bubbles break, 
As an Artist draws, with a hand full free, 
Circle and line — soft vocal glee 

Ripples along their wake. 

The ancients thought that the tune of the tide 

Laughed through some naiad's throat ; 
But 't is only the music that doth abide 
At the heart of all, whate'er betide — 
Creation's hopeful note. 

In noiseless pools — like rests that lie 

In song, too deep for speech. 
Glows the calm beauty of the sky — 
The measureless Divinity — 

Love soaring beyond reach. 

The mirrored stars afar o& swinging, 

Join in the brook's low rhyme. 
The endless fugue through all space ringing, 
Chords hearts, and spheres and spray drops 
flinging — 

The symphony of Time. 

Sing, brook! soft syllables repeating 

What sages may not know ! 
If I could tell what foam waves breaking 
Might tell, or the wind the long grass shaking, 

How would my numbers flow ! 



23 



THE APPROACH OF SUMMER 

A warm breath blew my hair ; 

I looked, but everywhere 
Bloomed innocent child-blossoms of the Spring. 

Silence and May were near ; 

But still — yes, I could hear 
A silver voice in far off echoing. 

A soft hand touched my own ; 

I looked, and, overgrown, 
A damask bud was bursting into bloom. 

Slow from the low, flushed sky, 

As velvet robes trail by. 
Passed a rich, almost visible, perfume. 

A presence smote my soul. 

And, vibrating, it stole 
Upward, a note of earth's full harmony. 

Sound, glowing color, scent. 

In one sweet outburst blent. 
Poured forth inspired Summer's symphony. 

But ah, my heart, my heart ! f ' 

Why should within thee start 
Pale images of roses that are dead? 

The song thy summer sung, l| 

Long, long ago it rang • 

An echo 'mons: the hills with sunset red. 



I 



24 



A SUMMER DRIVE 

Along the peaceful village street 
We ride, in pleasant talk at ease. 
Far off the sparkling river lies 
Deep blue beneath the summer skies. 
Among the overarching trees 
Rustles the fragrant southwest breeze, 
And on the firm white road the cheery hoof- 
strokes beat. 

Beyond the wayside hedges, dream 
Green meadows, where the red kine graze. 
Wide fields of waving corn and wheat 
Drink in the sun's fierce, ripening heat, 
And far, a line of low hills raise 
Their summits in the tender haze 
That marks the winding way of Powow's gentle 
stream. 

Ah, how the fresh breeze springs from o'er 
The river's white-capped, blue expanse ! 
Its wide, deep current flows between 
Low shores and hills of sombre green. 
Birds twitter, silver sparkles dance, 
The birches' gay leaves gleam and glance, 
And light-rushing wavelets break upon the shore. 

Through country ways, on, on for miles, 
Till shadows lengthen : from this height, 
Behind, the purple stream winds down 
Past hill, and field, and distant town ; 
Before, through gates of dazzling light, 
A sea of silver melts from sight. 
Wide o'er the happy earth the peace of Heaven 
smiles ! 



25 



The summer woods ! this shaded way — 
How cool it is — how sweet and still ! 
A tender, vernal dusk pervades 
The silence of these leafy glades, 

Save where, through broken openings, spill 
Splashes of sunlight ; oft a trill 
Bubbles, and quick wings rustle from a tilting 
spray. 

What drifts of white, luxuriant bloom 
Along the sylvan vistas grow? 
Lo, clematis hath twined her bowers 
Of gushing leaves and foaming flowers ! 
Down through her wreaths of virgin snow 
The sunset's hazy splendors glow. 
And beams of golden green slant through the 
verdurous gloom. 

The sun hath set ; down pleasant lanes 
Come slowly home the lowing kine. 
Sweet odors fill the gathering dew 
From meadows where the hay is new. 
Drifting o'er yonder misty line 
Of coast, comes inland from the brine 
The strong salt air. Slowly the glimmering twi- 
light wanes. 

Now on the bridge, resounding slow. 
Homeward, we cross the river's breast. 
Deep in its polished mirror lie 
The crescent moon, the hollow sky, 
And wooded banks ; and, islands blest, 
The rosy cloudlets of the west 
Lie anchored in a second golden heaven below. 



26 



A sense of rest the evening fills — 
An influence of tenderness. 
The Spirit clothed in nature's grace 
Unveils the beauty of His face. 
Soft zephyr, like a light caress, 
Springs as the lingering day grows less, 
And from the scented fields the insect chorus 
shrills. 



" THE WIND IS SIGHING THROUGH MY 
LATTICE BOWER" 

The wind is sighing through my lattice bower, 
And leafy shadows tremble on the floor. 

The solemn light 
That steeps the mountains in its sleeping gold, 
Is sleeping here, and far and far away, 

No sound, no motion save the noiseless drift 
Of rose leaves on the grass ; and through my 
heart 

A sadness steals 
One with the nameless grief that haunts the day, 
Whose softened glory, wafted from the east. 

Holds the wild, mystic secret of the sea. 
A yellow butterfly goes flitting down 

The garden path, 
And disappears. A spirit broods alone. 
Beautiful, but like a spirit of the dead. 



27 



TO THE EAST WIND 

thou that echoest the voicefnl deep — 
Mighty and strong! I dare to come to thee 
In love, not fear. I bring to thee, O Wind, 
The thoughts which thou hast left me, blossomed 

out. 
Thou ! while thou circlest in thy stormy sweep, 
Setting thy long-imprisoned voices free ! — 

1 hear beyond them wail a sorrowing mind. 
And sounds of weeping mingle with thy shout. 

Ah, is it strange 'tis so, when thou hast come 
From places where the centuries lie dead — 
Where all the darkness moves with memories 
Of the far past, and naught but dripping ledges 
Answer them, save when thou leav'st thy home, 
And far and near thy haunted vapors shed? 
The cooling hand that on my forehead lies 
Perchance hath come from where long ocean 
sedges 

Trail o'er the lost, or wrecks that through the 

gloom 
Like phantoms move the water in low sighs ; 
Or where gold heaps run into darts of light, 
And curious fishes smell and pass them by. 
All things that in the salt sea find a tomb — 
The windless forests desolate of skies — 
Decaying cities sunken in the night 
Of long oblivion, where ruined lie 

Their splendors past, and crusted are their halls 
With shellfish and the seaweed's flaunting hair — 
Where fins fan through the windows, and the 

ghost 
That comes to visit his earth home once more 
Flies frightened when some mouldered turret falls 

28 



With sullen splash, — O Wind, thou from thy lair 
Tellest of these, and more ; thy viewless host 
Shudder within me as the ocean's roar. 

But there are da3'^s — the fresh and bright and 

free — 
When o'er the darting- sparkles of the blue 
Thy voice hath gained a sound that calls a sheen 
Of glory from the glory of the sea ! 
The skies are clear and lustrous, and from thee 
The nodding rose takes on a fairer hue. 
The grass streams westward with a fresher green. 
But twilight sees thee whiten silently, 

And fogs roll in o'er marshes, and the smell 
Of ocean flowers blows stronger from the brine, 
And like a tide within me come and go 
Vague longings after dead and buried things. 
And faintly, as thou weep'st to rest, the swell 
Of rocking billows, foaming line on line. 
Comes up the land, and with a pallid glow, 
Beneath the moon thy mists fold up their wings. 

'Tis then we hear the elfin sea music 
Rise in fantastic melodies of eld. 
And far within the dusky purple east 
A thousand murmurous harmonies run on. 
O Wind, not always dreams the stilly lick 
Of low surf on the shore, but oft have swelled 
The waters, lashed to an angry yeast. 
And thou, swooping to land with strength new- 
won, 

Tear'st through the valley with monotonous 

boom. 
Tameless and swift — Oh, I would with thee go ! 
Yes, for within my breast an answering voice 
Struggles to follow thine — it lifts me high 

29 



E'en as thy flying clouds ! I feel a doom 
To bear, like thee, the memories that flow 
From the dead past, that in their strength rejoice, 
When I, like thee, would from my unrest fly. 

Ay, trailing after us, they come, they come ! 
Oh, let me link my empty hands with thine ! 
Perchance in thy far revellings may break 
The chains from which I never can be free. 
Alas, it is not so ! but. East Wind ! some 
Morn shall dissolve these fetters, thine and mine, 
When the evangel of the Lord shall wake 
Eternity across the glorious sea! 



REST 

I stand alone on this rock-armored shore, 
Breathing the incense of the sun-flamed sea. 
The world seems fair and from all evil free. 
And everything partakes of joy's full store. 
The balanced waves move on with rhythmic 
tread — 
Their bending forms the winds' rude motions 

bear ; 
These blue-encumbered lengths of water wear 
Rich ermine capes upon their shoulders spread. 
But now the sea grows still, the wearied air 
Ceases, the ripples lisp their last farewells, — 
Only the tireless swell now sways the calm. 
A subtle power frees my soul from care. 
Yes, like the sea's still motion, in me dwells 
Thought's onward movement tempered by 
rest's balm. 



3° 



THE THUNDER STORM 

The sunlight flees the air, — the earth retreats to 

sullen gloom. 
The burning day anticipates the coming of heat's 

doom, 
For in the west the clouds' dark brows frown 

o'er the timid sky, 
And silence waits with anxious calm until the 

storm draws nigh. 

The air tunes all its harp strings to the thunder's 

gathering tone ; 
The wind strikes mighty discords, till the strife 

of sounds is thrown 
Throughout that breadth of atmosphere where 

silence held its sway. 
Ha ! what new foeman of the heat unleashed his 

poniard's play? 

The lightning's struggling splendor with its glit- 
tering streams of light, 

Flows o'er the plains of darkness ; but the climax 
of its might 

Bursts all the flood gates of the clouds, and rain 
streams are expelled 

Until the coolness soothes the air, and haughty 
heat is quelled. 

But see! The darkness falters, and beyond the 

air's wet fields, 
Unshattered lances from the sun pierce through 

the cloud's black shields. 
Soon the dark tumult ceases — gloom is by light 

unbound ; 
And Nature, thankful for the storm, smiles from 

the rain-stained ground. 



31 



A BOAT SONG 

Upon the trackless desert of the ocean, 
I sailed my little boat one summer's day. 

She bounded with a swift and buoyant motion, 
Dashing from bows to stern with scattered 
spray. 

Fathoms of mighty water lay beneath me, 

Miles of blue, rolling meadows stretched away, 

And far and near the waves with whitecaps hoary 
Looked o'er each other's shoulders in their play. 

The sea's great arc the pale horizon belted, — 

Measureless azure brooded overhead; 
White domes, and hills, and pearl-paved road- 
ways melted 
In the soft winds that breathed on them and 
fled. 

Lightly the monster bore his tiny rider — 
But see ! the sky is changed, and on the 
shore — 

Woe to the boat if e'er such seas betide her — 
Comb the wild breakers with a sullen roar. 

Fly, little boat ! with swift and swifter motion. 
Stagger and leap toward your sheltered home. 

When angry surges sweep the wakening ocean. 
Who would be tempted from his hearth to 
roam ? 



32 



IN FERN TIME 

Pale shapes of green, in bosky covert springing, 
Send through my mind a pensive music ringing. 
As though a troop of fays were faintly singing, 
Winding in the slant moonbeams. 
Shining through midsummer dreams. 
Wandering in the August woodlands slowly. 
Oft I come upon their jungles lowly — 
Sudden wildernesses of ferns, 
Hiding in Nature's cool, dim urns — 
They swell a thin and wild, sweet melody 
Through the strong forest's deeper harmony. 
Like treble flute notes in a symphony. 

Their clusters spring along these deep glades 
sleeping 

Round clififs o'er which the tangled vines lie 
creeping. 

And where the waxen clethra spikes are steeping 
The air with fragrance ; down below 
Bright in the grassy meadows, blow 

Troops of wild lilies in the breezes swaying 

Like scarlet butterflies together playing. 

Against my wreath of vine and fern, 
Their gathered cups of color burn 

Among fair harebells grouped around their feet. 

E'en so the fiery hearts are wont to beat 

Warmly toward others that are cold and sweet. 

A fairy spot, this little headland lying 
Out in the woodland lake ; here shadows, dying, 
Melt in the mirrored blue ; to soft winds sighing, 
The honeyed wild azaleas shake 
A rose-streaked blossom in the lake. 
And, in the sunshine, water lilies dreaming 
Stir on the crystal deeps around them gleaming. 



33 



Here, amid leaves, the maidenhair 
Unbinds her tresses to the air 
In fragile beauty. How thou seemest near, 
Spirit of these lone woods ! such shapes appear 
That whisper One hath been before me here. 

The world is full of God ! in the soft splendor 
Of earth and sky I read his message tender. 
Here will I rest, my silent praise to render 

Beneath the whispering trees. How still 
The landscape ! drinking in its fill 
Of sunlight. The waves on the pebbles breaking, 
Rush, foam, and lapse. I would that never 
waking 
This peace might know, while yet I feel 
Its gentle rest across me steal. 
With idle rise and fall, my spirit flows 
Whithersoe'er uplifted fancy goes 
To dream within the afternoon's repose. 



A FANDANGO 

The moon looked down one summer night 

A yellow globe of tender light — 

Upon a little brook at play 

That dashed its silver rills to spray, 

And bubbled o'er with gurgles gay. 

And danced and danced 
A light fandango in the meadow. 

The slender iris' purple cup 

With dewy fragrance filling up, 

And sweet white violets that grew 

In crowds near by, their shadows threw 

That flickered when the night wind blew, 

And danced and danced 
A light fandango in the meadow. 

34 



A firefly, with gambols rash 
Floating in many a dying flash, 
Now ht a-tilt on a grassy bar, 
Now gleamed within the dusk afar, 
Now downward slid like a falling star ; 

And danced and danced 
A light fandango in the meadow. 

There was a happy frog who knew 
His sweetheart's tender love was true ; 
So, where the brooklet's wavelets beat, 
And washed against their twinkling feet, 
They sang a polka shrill and sweet. 

And danced and danced 
A light fandango in the meadow. 

What wonder I was moved to speed 
On twirling tiptoe down the mead? 
And as, in fairy guise, with glee 
I whirled a quickstep airily. 
We joined in mirthful revelry, 
And danced and danced 
A light fandango in the meadow. 



35 



YELLOW AND WHITE CHRYSANTHE- 
MUMS 

O rich and pure ! what fair and downy dreams 
Are pillowed soft within your melting bloom? 
Methinks the eastern moonlight lifts the gloom 
Where, through thick leafage, parting as it 

gleams, 
You lean to meet the blushing silver beams. 
Ah ! now I hear an airy footstep start 
Down terraced walks where statues shine 
apart, — 
One comes and earth with nobler beauty teems. 
O now she gathers you with her light touch 
Into those warm, white fingers ! — Gods ! I feel 
That clasp you meet so pale and passionless. 
Swaying your long, loose fringes ! 'Tis of 
such 
Dreaming, the hours my senses steal. 

And steal my heart, for her — I dream — to 
bless. 

LOOKING OFF 

Far, far across the waters blue, 

The land of Beulah comes in view — 

The white Hesperides. 
Here flashing breakers rush and roar ; 
But on that distant, dream-locked shore 

Is rest and flowery ease. 

Could I but dip my pearly feet 
In purple waves in that retreat, 

How sweet the summer's day ! 
But I should long for the bright, wild sea. 
For the rough, red rocks, and the storm — and 
thee; 

So let life have its way. 

36 



EAST WIND IN THE CITY 

The skies are fair this afternoon, 

The trees and grass are green with June ; 

Salt-scented, from the marshy lea, 

In long, delicious breaths set free. 

The east wind comes in from the sea. 

The atmosphere's soft, crystal light 
Reveals the city, clean and bright. 
Cool shadows in the trees dive deep 
Beneath the vivid lights that steep 
The groves and streets in tranquil sleep. 

I smell the freshening ocean air ; 
I feel its breath blow back my hair ; 
I seem to see long, wet sands shine. 
And hear the billows, line on line, 
Roll inward from the flashing brine. 

In fancy, once again I lie 
Where great rocks pile their ruins high. 
Far down below, against their feet. 
The restless breakers rush and beat 
In loud advance and light retreat. 

Eastward the sparkling water lies. 
Far reaching 'neath the circling skies. 
A white gull gleams across the blue, 
A white sail glimmers into view, 
And flecks of foam the breezes strew. 

With half-shut eyes I dream, I glide 
Away out with the flowing tide. 
As though the great heart of the sea 
Had drawn my own away from me 
In its mysterious sympathy. 



37 



But round me lies no summer reach 
Of hoary cliJff, nor yellow beach. 
The sound the breezes murmur o'er 
Is not the waves upon the shore, 
But busy traffic's ceaseless roar. 

Yet in the day's drear brightness, dwells 
The secret that the wild sea tells. 
Wide o'er the land its trance is spread. 
That seems from yearning sadness bred, 
Like memories of joys long dead. 

The tender glory in the air 
Rests like a blessing, everywhere ; 
The sunset's slanting haze that falls 
On distant spired towns and walls 
The vision of St. John recalls. 

Such must the Holy City be, 
When earth wears immortality. 
When, in its airs of solemn gold. 
Wide, still, the Almighty's wings unfold 
In baptism of peace untold. 



RENEWAL 

There comes drifting over the marshes 

An odor known to me. 
And a tumult stirs my spirit, 

Almost lost to memory. 
My flagging blood flows faster — 

My heart is struggling free 
Out of its dull, long sadness, 

For oh, I smell the sea ! 



38 



Roll back, thou years of sorrow, 
Thou long, long years of pain ! 
Let in a flood of sunshine 

Through the drear clouds fringed with 
rain. 
Come back, youth's dewy freshness, 

The hopes and dreams all vain, 
The happiness I longed for — 
I smell the sea again. 

Take heart, O weary woman ! 

There yet remains for thee 
All that thou thought'st had vanished 

This side eternity. 
Renew thy race, glad Virtue, — 

Life's purpose, strong and free ; 
God sends His cheering message 

In the odor of the sea. 



"PURPLE SHADES OF AUTUMN" 

Purple shades of autumn stained the white sails 

Down by the sea ; 
Beauty and heartache touched the world together. 

Coming to me. 

Lonely the splendid sunlight brooded a-dreaming 

Over the lea, 
Where goldenrod flamed and beckoned, 

Calling to thee. 

Heartache crept softly out and left earth's pure 
beauty. 

How tenderly ! 
For through the light and shade came footsteps 

Down by the sea. 



39 



AT EVENING 

The glowworm in the rose's cell 

A message had from thee, 
That, shining through her softened light, 

Brought thy dear eyes to me. 

The rose reached out and thrilled my hand- 
She whispered something sweet ; 

And then methought that softly so 
I knew thy heart could beat. 

The summer night slid down and touched 

My spirit with her own. 
Ah, in her passionate low speech 

I heard thy gentle tone ! 

Still must the heart strings in my breast 
Throb lonely 'neath such themes? 

O come to me and comfort me. 
Or haunt me not in dreams ! 



OCTOBER 

A hush hath fallen o'er the autumn days. 
The white sail, noiseless, steals away from shore ; 
Blue seas spray silverly with mellowing rush 
On rocks steeped through with sunshine. All the 

woods. 
That meet the happy pathways of the fields. 
Find death a rapture, pouring through their veins 
The draught none save immortals can endure. 
And oh, the sky ! those heights on heights of blue, 
Seen through the arches and gold-fretted domes 
Of lofty elms, how beautiful ! They rain 
Thought writ in fire, drenching the heart with 

love. 



40 



THE FOREST PARK 

Thy long, low, winding mounds and vales, that 

rest 

Where trees' contending shadows always lower. 

Show where some glacier furrowed earth's broad 

breast 

With icy ploughshares, drawn by mystic power. 

Though roughly hewn, thy slopes grew grand 
with time. 

As hidden secrets 'mid thy dust were wrought ; 
Till now triumphant pine-trees stand sublime, 

The noble actions crowning Nature's thought. 

A temple thou — saved from destruction's bane — 
Where dwells the goddess Rest, whose power 
divine 

Unties for men the tangles in life's skein 
If they but worship at her forest shrine. 

Though greed and change may threaten, firmly 
stand 

In thy primeval purity alone, 
E'en though the city raises round thy land 

A greater, envious wilderness of stone. 



DESPOILED 

Ceased is the summer shower. 
And empty clouds lie listless, 
Wrecked on the far horizon's shore. 

Like shells of India's sea. 

Robbed of their pearls ; and useless, 

Cast on some sandy, wave-wet floor. 



41 



BY THE SEA 

The unending blue of ocean meets mine eye, 
All life and sparkle, and the fresh, spiced air 
Rushes, its gladness with my soul to share. 
These waves are friends, — together we laugh, 

sigh. 
Without the need of words ; such ones would I 
Dwell with, whose silence is a speech most rare. 
Today this bright sea hath no room for care. 
Voicing, unchecked, the eternal harmony. 

God in this scene maketh my soul grow still, 
Reaching me through creation, telling all 
That is ; and I, most willing pupil, learn 
By touch of Love that love is all His will. 

Assurance sweet! we hear His truth's strong 
call, 
And, listening, forget to weep and yearn. 



AUTUMN 

Lo! on the threshold of the year's decay 
Eternal Life looks down, and Nature's lyre 
Smites with a prescient tumult of desire. 
Earth, listening, glows beneath the rapturous lay. 
Look ! where the skies faint o'er the azure day. 
What chords are blending! gold and scarlet 

fire. 
Cool green that melts to amber mounting 
higher. 
And, fading like a dream of joy away, 

Against the blue, rose hues and violets lie. 
From west to east rich color pours along 
The dying hills, flashing immortal breath — 
A glorious burst of longdrawn harmony. 
Like to that sumptuous and triumphant song 
That strikes its music through the soul of death. 
42 



AURORA BOREALIS 

Out from the far, cold circle of the north, 

The flames of Heaven's great watch fires strupple 

forth, 
And paint the ceiling of the star-pierced night 
With restless frescoings of beauteous light; 
Now glowing low, with steadiness intense. 

Like nobleness enshrined in some strong soul ; 
Now gathering vividness, until immense, 

Full chords of color swell and upward roll. 
Across the night, these wondrous flashlights 

throw 
Their silent signalings, now quick, now slow. 
Weaving the stars in their mysterious veil, — 
A drama grand — but no man reads the tale. 



TO SOME NEIGHBORING CEDARS 

Last night the storm swept through thee, and thy 
boughs. 

Drenched with the pulsing millions of its drops, 

Thrilled to a wild and eerie melody. 

From where the sea bird rocks, it came to thee, 

And messages from the sweeping clouds down- 
poured — 

Songs that the winds and rains and sunshine 
hoard. 

Shut from the cold I lay, and listened long, 
Watching thy slender spires against the sky 
Beat like a baton, writing on the air 
That Nature's score which in divine despair 
The rapt composer follows, till he hears, 
Broken, afar, the music of the spheres. 



43 



IN THE FALL 

The eddies of the north wind sweep 

Through dead leaves rustHng low ; 
Its breath is from the freshened deep, 

And woods with frost aglow. 
Thin, blue, the waving tree shades lie 
Across the gray road winding by, 
And high on rocky steeps, and higher, 
Glows the red sumach's fire. 

Each loosened leaf writes on the air 

A poem in its fall ; 
It beckons me its dream to share, 

And binds me in its thrall. 
Through the still sunset, amber clear, 
I hear some far off chanticleer 

From out the farmyard call. 

The azure fire that fills the sky 

Is cold, but full of love. 
Rocked on its breast the cedars lie 

Crowning the clifit's above. 
And, running down yon chain of hills, 
Color with praise the autumn fills. 

Knowing 'tis joy to die. 



THANKSGIVING EVE 

The crescent moon, a shining blade, 

Glitters adown the west. 
Gray bars of cloud, vermilion-dashed. 

Sink wind-blown to their rest. 
'Tis pleasant by the wood fire's blaze 
When darkness shrouds the country ways 

And harvest fields undressed. 



44 



GOD AND IMMORTALITY 

SUGGESTED THROUGH NATURE 

And canst thou, having senses, doubt, my soul — 
Doubt of a God, and of eternal life ? 
Look 'round thee and forget thy fears — look up ! 
O deeps on deeps on deeps of heavenly blue. 
Wonderful mystery! for which no name 
The spirit hath while gazing into thee. 
Entranced in the Invisible ! No word 
But thine, O Love, opes the true utterance 
Toward such a power as fastens on me now 
In yonder azure. Speak, my heart, thy thought, 
That doth outrun the reasoning of mind. 
And say thou meetest God within the sky ! 

Lo, how those heavenly airs whose thrilling touch 
Sweeps through the groves of resurrected spring 
Long miles of music in the newborn leaves — 
How breathe they on the doubting and despair 
That struggle with life's auguries, till they wake, 
Through some sweet, wordless argument, to faith 
In infinite love and immortality! 
Hark how the gale leaps from the lightning cloud ! 
Answers the bellowing thunder's deep-toned voice, 
Rolling across the surging forests tossed 
Like billows of the ocean — Glorious ! 
God! roars exultingly the storm along. 
God ! leaps triumphant through the laboring soul 
Caught to the bosom of the tempest — God ! 
As a frail note's whelmed by a music tide, 
Rushes its passion on the spirit — God ! 

Within those springtime forests, where o'erbroods 
His pregnant Being, ever year by year 
Writing life's quenchless hope in tender flowers 
That die to live again, and drawing from 
Old trees the bud and blossoming of youth, — 

45 



Within those places we call solitudes, 
A Presence draws the soul into itself, 
Uplifted yet at home, clasped in the rest 
That fills the eternal dwelling place of Him. 

Stand thou upon the tempest-beaten shore, 
Where the fierce ocean wind comes sweeping like 
An eagle by thee, and the lashing waves 
Boom on the rocks below with rush and roar 
Of harmony, — that tumult speaks to thee 
With a familiar voice — thou knowest the tones 
Of One who dwells within thee as without. 

Who, standing on the mountains, with his feet 
Set where the peaks at morn and evening crown 
Their heads with changeful beavtty — lifting up 
Altars of amber fire in setting suns. 
Blushing as softly as an infant's cheek 
When o'er them palpitates the morning star, 
Swelling with swaying cycles of soft sound 
The while the silken zephyr's sighing tone 
Low agitates their forests, or awake 
To the stern music of the savage storm — 
Who, standing here, uplifted, while below 
Spreads the round, rugged earth that shows her- 
self 
A vast ball hung in space, — who but then through 
His sense of overwhelming weakness feels 
The conviction swell and shadow it — O Thou, 
Upon the threshold of whose life I stand, 
I see Thee, feel Thee, know Thee — Thou art here. 
Enthroned upon these heights. 

But, looking up 
Beyond the summit of earth's ancient hills. 
The secret of the heavens leads the mind 
To thought that it but dimly comprehends. 
And leaves it, lost, before the Infinite. 

46 



The stars, prophets whose feet tread out our lives, 
Whose countless eyes, in the forgotten past. 
Beheld the birth of man, and saw the rise 
And fall of powerful nations, whose vast worlds 
In constellations numberless people space. 
And still are more, and more beyond the more, — 
Millions of suns, the centres of bright troops, 
Whirling down measureless tracks through the 

unknown 
Black ether fields, flashing through endless space 
The syllables of an almighty Word, 
Unutterable by man — O when I look 
Breathless, into the awful, glittering night, 
My soul is smitten with humility 
That kills her sense of worth. But, as I feel 
Crushed into nothingness, my spirit then 
Springs as a mighty force restrengthens it. 
And with its foot upon the heavens, clasps 
The hand of God in reverent fellowship. 



47 



misr^Uanwus fn^ma 



STEPPING-STONES 

I hold it truth, with him who sings 
To one clear harp in divers tones, 
That rnen may rise on stepping-stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things. 

Tennyson 

Scene : A Studio. Two artists at work. First 
artist throws down his brush, and, going to 
the zuindozu, stajids looking out. 

First A. (soliloquising) 'Tis of no use ! They 
told me in my youth 
That genius should be free. And I am free! 
Free as yon smoke that wavers up and down, 
Wandering wheresoever it shall list. 
How free is that ? There are fixed laws that trace 
The lightest whirl that marks its upward way. 
And so with me ; wherever I may turn, 
There is some bar, some harshly pointing hand, 
That says, " Thou shalt go this way ; " and I go. 
Free ! — was I free when o'er the mountain steep 
I wandered till fatigue delayed my steps? 
Ah, was I free when down the torrent wild 
My small boat shot, and bore me on with it 
Till only chance hands snatched me from my 

death ? 
How free was I when passion's whirling race 
Bore me toward her heart to starve unfed? 
How free was I when through that other soul. 
Formed of the mingled dreams of heaven and hell, 
I tasted mad delight and dull despair? 
Ah, I was free ! what hollow mockery ! 
Have I of late been free, when from the glass 
All glowing with the life blood of the vine 
I drained the false elixir, till at last 
I swam entranced in festival of sense 

51 



And glorious visions, only to return 

To earth and find myself a bestial sot ? 

Ay, that was freedom — freedom to be cursed 

With everlasting thirst and endless strife — 

With habits whose unbridled course would bind 

Me to the misery of Tantalus, 

And drag the manhood left to slavery. 

Ah, I am free ! what lovely ministry 

Those legions of the damned that I have raised 

In this my search for freedom — how they strive 

To do some service to my noble art ! 

How vie they with all sweet wiles known to them, 

Each to express himself, while I stand by 

Wielding the brush for them that shall depict 

A portrait of my masters ! Ah, I free ! 

God ! I were freer rotted back to dust, 

Though even that slaves for the elements. 

Second Artist approaches, and lays his hand upon 
the other's shoulder. 

Second A. What moves you, brother? 

First A. Some few thoughts, no more. 

Second A. You look one lost in woe. 

First A. Lost, that is true — 

In what, I cannot name. It is enough 
To feel the name, and shudder at its deeps. 
Some people call it hell. 

Second A. Why, what is this? 

First A. Do you shrink from me? 

Second A. Shrink from you? Not so. 

These are the fancies of a fevered brain. 

First A. See what a beauteous vision gathers 
shape 
Upon your canvas ! It is full of peace, — 
So I should name a thing I never knew. 

Second A. You ne'er knew peace? 

First A. Nay, what may it be like? 



52 



Second A. (thoughtfully) I knew it not myself 
till latterly. 

First A. So you do know it ! Tell me where 
'tis bred. 

Second A. 'Tis bred in battle with our dead- 
liest foe. 

First A. What may you mean? 

Second A. In victory over self. 

First A. I never sought to subjugate myself. 

Second A. Then 'tis no wonder that you are 
in hell. 
Our nature is two-fold. The selfish will, 
Set against God's will, is the road to hell. 
This rebel loosed will breed a thousand fiends 
To whip you to destruction. You are bound. 

First A. I need not you to tell me I am bound. 
But I will yet gain freedom if there lives 
Power in the soul of man to taste of such. 

Second A. There does ; if you will learn, — 
it needs naught else. 

First A. Teach me the way, and I am e'er 
your friend. 
What mean you by God's will ? 

Second A. I call it that. 

There is a governing Spirit everywhere 
That harbors with my conscience ; and when I, 
Through fiercest struggles with my selfish will 
Obey the mandates of this lawgiver, 
Then follow peace, and freedom of the soul. 
My conscience is God's will. 

First A. You must obey 

Your conscience? How is that then to be free? 

Second A. What if it be the conscience 
points to that 
Which reason through experience has proved 
Alone is to be loved and struggled for 
As yielding you your freedom? What if you 

S2> 



Find that God's will gives all your own has 

missed 
In darkest ignorance through devious ways — 
The only way that leads you safely home 
Unto the wished for goal ? 

First A. (musingly) Once I did know 

A woman that I would have counted such, — 
Ay, and would now, — and serving her should 

feel 
That I had found my freedom, for it is 
A bondage that I long for ; such no more 
Is bondage, but free service, and delight. 

Second A. Ay, now you speak the word — 
free service for 
That which we love the most — 'tis freedom so. 

First A. Yet many choose to love the blight, 
the curse; 
They hug the chains that make of them a slave. 
Free service, but where freedom? 

Second A. You do err. 

No man loved yet destruction. Oft the clutch 
Of some vile habit breeds a false delight — 
A vampire that does sap the life it feeds, 
And powerless 'neath its charm the wretch prefers 
Poison to food, and still no less is doomed. 
Ask such a bondman if he loves his chains ! 
Yourself but now owned that you were in hell. 

First A. How learn we then that conscience 
— God's will — is 
The only master that can set us free? 

Second A. By hard experience, as you have 
learned. 
And, speaking of this woman, you are wrong 
In deeming you could serve the imperfect so, 
Unless you were yourself perfected first. 
Somewhere this mortal soul would show a flaw, 
And disappoint you. Could you serve her still, 

54 



And find your freedom so? 

First A. No — 

Second A. I have been 

Bound to a woman thus with all my soul, 
And found the bondage madness — for no fault 
Of hers, — what right had I to ask of her 
That she should be my savior, and reveal 
Perfection absolute, that I might wait 
Joyful upon her will and thus be free? 
I sought and found the Perfect, higher far. 

First A. Where can you find perfection? 

Second A. It exists. 

If you but knew it once, you could but choose 
To know your master and your destiny. 
To know yourself — for in yourself it lies. 
Mankind must serve ; it is its very breath — 
The spring of every motive — to give self 
To some beloved thing. Only the wise 
Unwind their tendrils from unworthy gods — 
Idols of clay — and learn to love aright 
The Father of all freedom — we His heirs. 
Not blighting other loves, but guiding them 
To their true place, unto their true delight. 

First A. Unwind their tendrils ! so would I, 
alas ! 
But where can I find strength ? This means to me 
Struggles protracted, wherein I may be 
The vanquished, not the victor ; so am I 
Bound in the chains of habit. 

Second A. So was I. 

" The Truth shall make you free." 

First A. What is the truth? 

Where is it to be found ? Such words are vague ; 
They bring no meaning to the mind perplexed. 

Second A. I felt as you, and thus I made my 
search. 
I said, I have sought freedom all my life, 



55 



Lured on by passion's flattering promises, 
That do but bind me to her caprices. 
If there is aught within this universe 
That can command these clamorous, lustful 

tongues 
That make my rest a nightmare, and my flesh 
A double burden if I them obey — 
If there lives any Power can set me free. 
So that I may be tranquil, and no more 
A curse unto myself and all the world, — 
Even perchance a blessing, if such hope 
Can visit a dead destiny like mine, — 
Reach down and give me strength to follow Thee. 

First A. And were you helped? 

Second A. Ay, helped to help myself. 

A faint, persistent, and yet loving voice 
Urged me on bleeding feet to sacrifice ; 
But after sacrifice came the reward. 
I learned that in myself a spirit dwells 
Godlike — ay, even one with God Himself. 
It told me I was happy, sinless, free. 
It gently took the reins from flesh and sense, 
And turning all my being toward itself. 
Reigned, and rebellion perished ; for the law 
That erst I found so irksome, had become 
My innermost desire, and my peace. 
I could not be discouraged, though the way 
It led me upward in was long and hard. 

First A. And this mysterious life you call 
the truth ? 

Second A. Ay, truth, the spirit of the Christ 
in you. 

First A. In me? O no. 

Second A. I tell you, yes, in you. 

When Peter said, " Thou art the Son of God ! " 
Christ answered, " Thou art, Peter, and upon 
This rock I build my church." I say in you. 

56 



First A. (laughing) Though your theology- 
may be at fault, 
Your heart is not. I'll follow after you. 

II 

Early evening. Clara English in boudoir alone. 
Reads from nezvspaper. 

Cla. " The artist, Henry Frankenstal, was 
found 
In an intoxicated state last night, 
Past midnight, lying by the entrance of 
The Murray Hill Hotel. An officer 
Carried him to the station house, where he 
Was held on bail this morning. 'Tis well known 
Among the friends of Frankenstal, that he 
For a year past had given up the use 
Of liquors, which he drank much formerly. 
Though ne'er before to common drunkenness ; 
And for this reason they regard as strange 
His swift return without apparent cause, 
And with such violence, to an old vice. 
As for himself, he will not talk of it." 

(Rises and paces the floor.) 
So what they said was true ! Ah me, ah me ! 
I hoped he had abandoned his wild course. 
He loves me — yes, he said it, says it now ; 
And yet he stooped, and still stoops, to this pass. 
My God ! found in the gutter — Frankenstal ! 
The man I love — alas ! he knows it not ! 
Why should he know it? I will wear a smile 
Over this breaking heart for all my life, 
Ere such a man shall claim me as his own. 
Poor Henry ! He must suffer so tonight — 
For he was always proud — as low as this ! 
Why should I pity him who chose to seek 
Perdition, rather than reform for me? 



57 



I never asked him, true. / ask a man 

To set my love a prize 'gainst appetite! 

So — for a year — and now he falls like this ! 

(Kneels by the couch and remains so a long time.) 

(Rising) I am going to him — he needs a friend. 

Ill 

An elegant apartment. Frankenstal alone. 
Enter Valet. 

Valet. A lady at the door would see you, sir. 

Frank. Conduct her in. 

(^Valet returns with Clara, veiled.) 
Aladam, be seated, pray. 

(Valet zvithdrazvs. Clara removes her veil.) 
Miss English ! Am I making a mistake ? 

Cla. No, no mistake. My mother waits with- 
out. 

Frank. You wish to see me? 

Cla. I — I wish to, yes. 

Frank. 'Tis many years since you and I have 
met. 

Cla. Have you forgotten — 

Frank. That three days ago 

I wrote and asked your hand — the hand that you 
Have twice refused to me? and that tonight 
My name is spoken by a thousand tongues 
In accents of contempt? Both I recall. 
How can I serve you now? 

Cla. Henry ! 

Frank. I know 

Not what you mean. 

Cla. Help me to tell you, then ! 

Frank. Remove your hand, and stand away 
from me. 
If it was pity brought you here tonight. 



58 



I thank you. It was kind. I need it not. 

Cla. You not need pity? 

Frank. Clara, pray return. 

You do not know how low a man has sunk 
Who can forget himself as I have done. 
Pity me, if you can. The time has come 
When I am grateful to you e'en for this. 
But you must not stay here. Goodnight — good- 
bye. 

Cla. I will not go. It breaks my heart to go. 
I love you. 

Frank. You love — mef 

Cla. I love you — yes. 

Frank. Are you aware the man you say you 
love 
Came out this morning from the city jail, 
A common drunkard? 

Cla. Henry, I love you. 

Frank, (turning from her and kneeling by a 
chair. Muttering.) They say the souls in 
hell may look on heaven. 

Cla. (kneeling beside him) Dear Henry, let 
me touch you — let me speak ! 
This is not new to me, as you may think. 
It was the same, yes, years ago, when first 
You said you cared for me. I cannot tell 
Why, in despite of all you seem to me 
Of what is strong and manly, you persist 
In this unhappy course. I only know 
God gave my heart to you, and I must love ; 
And I will not forsake you now if you 
Still cannot change, but following on will hope 
To bring you to the better way at last. 
It is my duty. Henry, don't ! ah, don't ! 
You will not send me from you after this? 

Frank, (whispering) Please take your arm 
from me. It breaks my heart, 

59 



And does pollute you, too. 

Cla. Whatever now 

Pollutes you, it shall me, for I am yours. 

{Frankenstdl lifts her and, rising, stands back.) 
You look so strange ! Am I unwelcome then ? 

Frank. Unwelcome — you ? 

Cla. Dear Henry — 

Frank. Oh, my God! 

I must not keep you thus within my arms. 
I am a brute, a fallen, drunken beast, 
Unfit to breathe the air with such as you. 
Dear Clara, part from me, or I shall die. 

Cla. (reproachfully) You used to love me. 

Frank. Love ! and do I not ? 

If this sad, bruised heart, drenched by its tears. 
Wrung- by the struggles of a guilty soul 
Striving to grasp its virtue — could it now 
Shed its poor blood to give you happiness, 
Would it not do so ? Love you ! do you know 
That not an hour of all these ten long years 
Your soul has held mine, but has given you 
The best it had to give? My one wild grief 
That I in the deep gulf looked up and saw 
The star I longed to climb to, yet could not. 
Striving and ever falling? Ay, I love! 
I love you with a love that knows not change. 
Pure even now, polluted as I am — 
Fallen from the renewed manhood all but grasped 
Within my hand — ah, wretched ! that I see 
My heaven at last and dare not enter it. 
Cursed with the crowning woe of hurting you ! 
But bear with me — my noblest, dearest — give 
Only the privilege to speak to you 
From day to day, to touch your saving hand. 
There is a spirit in my bosom yet 
That spite of all shall make the man you love 



60 



That which he longs to be — for Christ and you. 

Cla. For Christ? you care for Christ? 

Frank. You are well amazed. 

Sit here, I'll tell you all. 

(They sit.) Dear friend, sweet friend, 

Angel of innocence! 

(He pauses, gazing at her.) 

Cla. Many have been 

Far worse nor cared so much. 

Frank. The shame that wrings 

My spirit beside thee! 

Cla. How could you do 

So, then, thinking of me? 

Frank. I thought you did 

Not care. 

Cla. And yet I would have died for you. 

(Frankcnstdl sinks on his knees, hiding his face 
and sobbing.) 

Frank. I know not what does ail me, yet my 
heart 
Grows lighter, as if freed from a great load. 

(Dries his eyes.) 
You die for me ! What would I do for you ? 

Cla. I want to hear you tell — how you have 
learned — 

Frank. To think of Christ? A)^ strange as 
it may sound 
From lips like mine — yes, I will tell it you. 
You know my friend, Ivan the painter, he 
Now is abroad — thankful I am 'tis so, 
For he would break his heart as you for me. 
Ah ! what am I, that God gives me such friends ? 
He taught me how to struggle 'gainst myself, 
And let the Son of God shine through my flesh. 
He led me on, till I believed my feet 
Were set upon the living Rock indeed, 



6i 



Safe in the eternal good. Alas for me ! 
I could not yield all hope, and when I knew — 
Clara — the face of Jesus left me then ! 
In a brief madness I denied His love, 
And owned the flesh again. It shall not be 
Aught but a dream. As you were entering, 
I swore that I would cling to Christ again 
And live without you. Angel — Oh, I love — 
Cla. (weeping) Henry, His spirit sent me here 
tonight. 
Let the world go ! together we will win 
Your peace and mine, and owe it to God's love. 

IV 

A garden at sunset. 

Henry and Clara together. 
Frank. This peace is wonderful ! the color 
flares 
Mingling like chords of music. There may be 
Beings that hear those sweet strains as they rise. 
Cla. To see them through your eyes is all I 

ask. 
Frank. My heart — my wife ! how long past 

seems all strife. 
Cla. God is so good. 

Frank. He always was, if we 

Self-blinded, had not deemed it otherwise. 

Cla. Eternity stretches before us like 

A shining plain. 

Frank. True, it is 'round us here. 



62 



THE TORCHLIGHT PARADE 

We heard, far off, the pulsing beat 
Of drums that marched from street to street. 
Till ranks of piercing gems in sight 
Came winding through the sable night. 
In one long, milky way of light. 

Beneath the torches' flickering glare 
To fife and drum and trumpet blare — 
A rich, enchanted, weird parade. 
The passing bright hosts glow and fade 
Down brilliantly embroidered shade. 

Look where their torches burst again 
From out the dark of yonder glen ! 
In many a starry, three-fold line 
Their restless constellations twine 
Through glooms where kindling colors shine. 

Now moves a mass of jewels through 
A burning radiance of blue ; 
Beyond them ranks of diamonds gleam 
In pure white fire, and onward beam 
Where vivid ruby vapors stream. 



What ! lone and black and still thou Night ! 
How quickly out of sound and sight 
Have slipped those lights, and left alone 
The stars above where lately shone 
A host more brilliant than their own. 

Only the light breeze floats a note 
From out some larger bugle's throat — 
Only far off the drum repeats 
Its pulsing echo through the streets — 
Naught else the sight or hearing greets. 

63 



Ah, see! they come! against the jet 
Of night their fierce gold hghts are set ! 
To measure of the rolhng drum, 
Gay, booming silver sound, and hum 
Of marching feet, again they come ! 

Along the endless, glittering way. 
Red, white, and blue, the rockets play ; 
And rainbow hues are flushing high 
Where round the black, encircling sky 
A hundred gorgeous sunsets die. 

Not for the joyous light and sound 
That pours its glad excitement round, 
Alone the watching thousands gaze 
When wide those peaceful armies raise 
Their bristling bayonets of blaze : 

Thoughts of the nation's weal and woe 
Follow the melody's quick flow ; 
Thoughts that stout hearts, as good and brave 
As those that died the land to save. 
Beat where those thousand torches wave. 

Nor yet for one man's hope of gain 
Swells loudly the triumphant strain ; 
The quenchless love of country springs 
Within unnumbered breasts, and flings 
Its strength on music's trembling strings. 

Beat, hearts and drums, across the night ! 
Beat out the wrong, beat in the right! 
Beat for our martyrs that have bled — 
Beat for our just to progress wed — 
Beat for the living and the dead ! 

Till bloody wars forever cease, 
Till reigns a universal peace, 

64 



When armies rest as free from fight 
As thine, whose twinkHng Hnes of hght 
Wind back into the sable night. 



" PUT HIM TO DEATH ! " 

Amid the splendid court of Babylon, 

The saintly Daniel stood ; 

And, that he labored for the highest good, 
Idolaters, through ignorance set on, 
Reproved and maddened, held him up to scorn ; 
Nobles 'twere made raved 'gainst the noble born, 
" Put him to death ! " 

From out the soil of sacred Galilee 

The holy Saviour sprang ; 

And that with truth his words and actions rang. 
With aim to set from evil all men free. 
Against him rose poor, wild humanity. 
And shouted, wroth with their great destiny, 
" Put him to death ! " 

Against the false and evil, Luther fought. 
Striving to raise his kind ; 
And thousands, in their carnal passions blind, 
Set his protesting, purer life at naught ; 
Condemned him for the better things he taught. 
Shrieked " Freedom ! " in a cry that bondage 
wrought — 

" Put him to death ! " 

In Italy did Galileo live ; 

And, that he sought and found 

Much key to mysteries that hedge us round, 
That he some glimpse of God's great plan did 

give 
To minds glad, eager, never could forgive 

65 



Fools fighting knowledge that the wrong might 
live, 

" Put him to death ! " 

The same old spirit in our midst today 

Cries loud in its conceit : 

" If aught outside the views I hold should greet 
The eyes of mortals, let the light of day 
Banish its face from me and mine alway ; 
And they who see it, cursed, too, be they : 
Put it to death ! " 

O God ! how grovelling is the human race ! 

Well of them thou didst write — 

" They loved the darkness rather than the light." 
O well for them, through Thy protecting grace, 
The fate they cried be not their ending place. 
That ever springs to life, with brighter face. 
Truth put to death. 



A MYSTERY 

I read a poem, and a form of fire 

Flared in my shaken soul. 
I said. Strange Spirit, quickening high desire. 

What art thou — whence thy power to control ? 

I heard a strain of music, and my life 

Enchanted was, and drew 
Its breath as breathed the sweet, harmonious 
strife. 

I said. Can lifeless Song my will subdue? 

I looked upon a picture ; my heart stirred 

In strange, sad echoing. 
I said. What whispers that I have not heard. 
Speak to the listening heart from this dead 
thing ? 

66 



I stood beneath the starry heavens, alone. 

Quickening the sky, the sod, 
Creation o'er my spirit flashed her own. 

And I conceived the might and love of God. 

Composer ! Artist ! Poet ! can you tell 

What is the language fine, 
Whose keen vibrations, in their noiseless swell, 

Wake with resistless power your soul in mine? 



RAPHAEL'S CHERUBS 

Resting in clouds untouched by sun or storm — 
Arms, wings, and heads to make each little form. 
Yon chubby boys, with heavenly eyes uplifted 
As though before their gaze bright visions 

drifted, — 
What do you see? A sweet and tender awe 
Shines through your looks, as though you hardly 

saw 
But felt, such rapture as a dewdrop feels 
When through its trembling heart the sunlight 

steals. 
You had been playing in the summer sky, 
Bidding " God-speed " the prayers that floated by. 
Dropping bright blossoms before human feet 
That wondered why they found the way so sweet, 
When lo! a sound, beating with every joy 
The soul most longs for — Love without alloy 
We seek, but never give nor take on earth — 
That deep chord sped your swift wings to the 

birth 
Of harmony such as Christ's gift of life. 
With its eternal victory over strife. 
Would make in music. As its streams arise. 
Things sweeter than I know are in your eyes. 



67 



THE RING NEBULA 

So sunk in space it seems almost a dream — 
The pale ring nebula ! O eons old, 
Mysterious, sublime, strange life untold ! 
Man's little day crosses thy solemn beam. 
Perhaps it be that golden circlet's gleam 
Is set for lovers as a sign in heaven, 
Watching o'er those to whom true love is given. 
Vainly we guess what mighty meanings stream 
Unto the earth from the unmeasured spheres. 
While prisoned spirits long to know their will, 
Striving for wider reach of soul and sense. 
On those still shores there seems no lapse of 

years : 
Eternity, above earth's silver sill. 
Hath ope'd her doors : We ask her — whither ? 
whence ? 

HAMLET 

Above the wilderness of Shakespeare's verse. 

The character of Hamlet, like a star. 

Shines from his topmost heaven. So pure, so 

true, 
By very stress of love's own fealty 
Urged on to hate and vengeance. Feeling all 
The plea of those eternal verities 
That shape men's course to virtue, yet distraught 
By human frailty crossing all his dreams. 

Oh, there is that in such a noble heart 

Which reaches down through centuries to wake 

Mankind's divinity ; this from the dust 

Doth chivalrous spring to take a brother's part. 

Who, struggling with life's problem, could not 

yield 
His high-born soul to baseness, but toiled on 
Through strife, and pain, and death — to victory. 
68 



INTUITIONS 

The poet knows if his song be true ; 

For it comes with a whirl and a fire, 
As his fingers, wandering in the dark 
Over Life's harpstrings, strike a spark 

Out of the golden wire. 

The artist knows if his art be true ; 

For it seizes and wields his hand, 
While smites his anointed heart and eye 
The Vision Beautiful passing by ; 

Few see, none understand. 

The musician knows if his theme be drawn 

From the eternal score ; 
For his Eden, held by a flaming sword. 
Opes, and he hears the liquid word 

That haunts him evermore. 

The lover knows if his love be true ; 

For he reads, untaught, the scroll 
Of another life, with the wondering thought 
That the universe to man is brought 

In the touch of a kindred soul. 

The Christian knows if his faith be true ; 

For he feels the hallowed blade 
Of his soul's ideal pierce his heart 
With the wound that heals, and he bears his 
part 

Of the cross on the Saviour laid. 



69 



ISOLATION 

I know a language I have never spoken — 
The words that voice my soul. 
Oft over me its eloquent billows roll; 
Swift, fiery, it longs to give some token 
To other ears, but there is none that hears. 

I make companions of the woods and waves, — 
They seem to understand ; 
The God within them takes me by the hand ; 
But, lonely else, the inner being craves 
Some human tone whose utterance is its own. 

Prisoned in self, each spirit dwells apart ; 
No common tongue, no cry 
Has power to voice the personality. 
Since Babel fell upon the human heart, 
Man strives in vain his true speech to regain. 

Yet sometimes some familiar secret word 
Flashes from other eyes — 
Our own reply to them in glad surprise; 
Heart leaps to heart, rejoicing to be heard. 
Who that has met his friend thus, can forget ? 



70 



THE TRUE NOBILITY 

Perchance their way hath naught of pageantry — 

No sound nor show of state — 
Perchance no voice among men names them great. 
About the footstool of Christ's throne they wait — 
His glorious band of aristocracy. 

They claim no worth — only the few well see 

How gracious is their smile, 
How sweet their service and how true the while. 
White, high-bred souls no evil doth defile — 
The friends and ministers of Royalty. 

Aristocrats, yet a democracy : 

They choose Christ for their King, 
And all mankind to high estate would bring. 
Strong for the work of Truth, at heart they sing, 
Already clothed in immortality. 



PRINCE CHRISTIAN 

O Prince ! I gaze upon thy manly face — 

It is not beautiful, yet there I trace 

Some charm, some power, some sudden, winning 

smile. 
That make the heart and eye remember thee. 
There is a royal movement to thine hand. 
And in thy quiet bearing something grand, 
Reminding us of kings — as kings should be. 

Where is thine abdicated throne, young knight? 
Hast thou forgot it in the alarm, the fight ? 
Is it in some far land where men hate guile. 
Unerring true to virtue as the sword 
That flashes from the scabbard of the Lord ? 
How He must love thee, and souls like to thee, 
Whose arms on earth give Christ the victory. 

71 



THE HARP OF JUDAH 

I stood on barren hills scorched by the sun ; 

The sky arched over them its pale blue light 

That here and there revealed old ruins set 

In dreary desert places, where the sand 

Sifted its desolation undisturbed. 

No sound relieved the stillness, not a form 

Flitted across the fiery heat to seek 

The unrefreshing shadows of the noon. 

A mighty loneliness, as if the face 

Of God were turned against it, brooded o'er 

The circle of my vision. 

But what glow, 
Afar on yonder mountains dipped in haze, 
Blushes with rosy azure, creeping o'er 
The fainting land like love across despair? 
The glance that sweeps the weird monotony 
Leaps to catch sparkles and soft gleams of blue ; 
And looking down, tracing through vales obscure, 
I marked a river winding to the sea. 
With eager feet descending, soon I stood 
Close by its willowed margin, drinking in 
Its cooling breath, and listening to the sounds 
It babbled on the pebbles. Noting how 
It ever widened as it neared the sea, 
I saw upon a drooping tree that trailed 
Its tremulous branches in the eddying stream, 
A mouldering lyre, Judah's neglected harp. 
Long given up to silence and decay. 
Quickly I seized it, curious to hear 
Its wakened tones, so grand in ages gone, 
And struck with careless vehemence the strings. 
When, as a thousand voices swelling from 
Caverns far underground and regions hid 
In the remote, vast solitudes, arose 
A strain of such unearthly, wailing sound, 

72 



Of hope deferred, of terror, and of woe, 
I shuddered as I heard ; it swept along 
Through the deep valleys echoing with moans, 
Till, borne to farthest distance, died away. 

The silence reassured me, and as one 
Held by a scene of horror looks again 
E'en as he turns away, so tremblingly 
Again I touched the harp. 

O sweet surprise ! 
Its melting notes crept forth, and flew on wings 
Of swiftest ecstacy where high in air, 
From north and east, from south and west, such 

streams 
Of harmony united, that the earth 
Swayed tremulous as a star that longs to break 
Free from its narrow circle, drawn by some 
More strong and radiant sphere; and my own 

soul. 
Ringing one note of joy into the song 
That swelled and beat around the walls of Heaven, 
Laid itself down at the Messiah's feet. 
And knew content at last. 



THE BEYOND 

Out in the caves of night, 

Blazing in glory. 
Millions of marshaled suns 

Tell us their story. 

Ever, in those far fields. 
Comets fly gleaming — 

Throbbing with crystal fire 
Planets rise beaming. 

In clouds of nebulous mist 
New suns are dawning — 

73 



Over some unknown sky 
Flashes the morning. 

Infinite spheres of light 

Whose shining portals 
Beckon to lovelier worlds 

Pure souls of mortals. 

Sirius and Betelgeuse, 

Rigel, Capella, 
Altair and Procyon 

Lead the host stellar ; 

Vega and Arcturus, 

Algol, Antares ; 
Spica and Fomalhaut, — 

Silver that star is : 

Pleiads and Hyades 

Veiled in soft splendor — 

Hundreds of stars like dust, 
Mellowed and tender. 

How might those monsters laugh 
At earth's poor naming, 

When such a glorious tongue 
From them is flaming. 

How might the small earth laugh, 

As, in God's keeping. 
Over space's mighty sea 

Man's thought is leaping. 

Laugh, then, O little Earth! 

For, through the Spirit, 
Thy sons of carnal birth 

Heaven shall inherit. 



74 



MAN'S MIND THE KEY TO THE 
UNIVERSE 

Once, in a studious mood, I scanned the heavens 

Through old Hipparchus' eyes, and onward up 
Through Newton's ; and I thought, to man is 
given 

All knowledge if he will but quaff the cup. 
On yonder mountain summit sits the truth, 

And waits to be discovered ; in this breast 
Deep secrets lie recorded, and joy, ruth, 

Answers have framed that shall reward our 
quest. 
Wise messages are shouted in the gale ; 

Nightly the stars proclaim their history ; 
And not a flower that decks the hill or vale 

Would of its being make a mystery. 
Turn where we may the key of All is there ; 

The name of Deity itself is writ 
Boldly in glorious letters everywhere. 

And sometime all mankind shall utter it. 



AWAKENING 

Dark is the distant sea ; 

The sails stand white 

Before the light 
That from the sun is streaming. 

Along my unkempt life. 

What deeds of mine 

Deserve to shine 
Faultless, beneath Truth's gleaming? 



75 



TO THE MOUNT 

O Mount, th}^ glorious days are done — 
The beauty of thy past is gone ; 

Man did decide thy fate. 
For he, with his despoihng hand, 
Hath crossed the borders of thy land, 

And left thee desolate. 

For thou a shining gem hast been 
In Nature's hilly necklace green — 

A jewel, stern but fair ; 
Thy shoulders, by the forest dressed, 
Upheld with pride thy rocky crest 

In higher realms of air. 

But now thy forest cloak is worn. 
And all its seams, thy paths, are torn 

By tramp of many feet ; 
The flowers no longer grace thy sod ; 
The columbine's familiar nod 

No more the spring doth greet. 

But, though thy slopes have been deprived 
Of verdure, that upon them lived 
When thou wert in thy prime, 
Long may thy ledges unmoved stand, 
Unchiseled, save by Nature's hand 
Tracing the course of time. 



76 



THE ELF AND THE DEWDROP 

An elf sat on a cobweb 

And thought and thought awhile ; 
He was a wicked little eff 

And meditated guile. 

What were those wondrous jewels 
That flashed around him so? 

Caught in the meshes of the net, 
They glittered to and fro. 

The spider frowned upon him. 

" Pray leave my home," he said ; 
" When rises up the god of day 

Those jewels will have fled." 

The elf did not believe him. 

Ah, could he make one fall ! 
He slyly stretched his tiny foot 

And kicked one like a ball. 

The jewel burst and vanished. 

Alas! how cheated he 
Who thinks and thinks in hopes to win 

Great gain through roguery. 



THE STAUBBACH 

Down a Swiss mountain runs a small stream, 
Catching the sunlight, gleam after gleam ; 
Through the grooved gorges, with a wild song. 
This snow-born rivulet races along. 

Over a precipice, with shining feet. 

It tries the deep distance, confident, fleet. 

Ere it can fall to the vale far away, 

All its bright flood is air-shattered to spray. 

77 



THE ANNUNCIATION 

Over Judea's hills the setting sun 

Shed a soft, purple splendor ; in their midst, 

White in the heart of verdure, Nazareth 

Climbed from a valley's hollow, dreaming in 

The tender western light that fell like an 

Unspoken blessing. To the north, vestured 

In mists of azure and deep glooms, hill rose 

On hill, each lovelier than the last ; till, crowned 

With snow, in the blue distance Hermon raised 

His dazzling silver summit to the sun. 

Lying to south and east, serenely clear. 

Plains reached where lonely TalDor slept in airs 

Of golden amber, and from plains beyond, 

Eastward of Jordan's wide-extended vale, 

The shadowy heights of Bashan blurred the sky. 

In Nazareth all was still, where now the sun 
Had hid his face behind the western steep. 
Leaving a gentle twilight, while around 
O'er the broad landscape lingered yet the day. 
All still, save children's laughter floated up 
To open windows, and anon the sounds 
Of some late workman broke upon the dusk ; 
Or voices from low housetops, or from courts 
Closed in their walls, made dreamy monotone 
More peaceful than deep silence. 

Here, alone. 
Beside her chamber window, Mary sat, — 
Mary betrothed to Joseph, David's son, — 
Sat leaning with bowed head, lost in her thought. 
One round white arm rose from the fallen sleeve 
That lay upon the sill, and a slim hand 
Pillowed the midnight blackness of rich hair 
That swept in loose confusion to the floor. 
The light in those large, tropical dark eyes, 

78 



Where purity has Ht a watchful torch, 

The deep, calm breath, the parted, crimson lips, 

The statuesque grace of attitude that shows 

Two white feet idly crossed, and the deep rose 

That breathes its velvet passion through a cheek 

Else lit with holy pallor, — they need not 

Of words to tell their meaning, — virgin thoughts, 

Ideal fancies of the quiet hour 

That come with youth and health and stainless 

hopes. 
I see her now ; those dreaming eyes are fixed 
Where far away the rugged country lies 
In still, bright beauty, laid with lengthening 

shades 
That tell of the coming night ; from slopes below 
The vineyards whisper in the cooling air. 
And plaintively the turtle's note is heard 
At intervals, cooing above her young. 
Nature's soft musings in the twilight steal 
Into the heart like human svmpathv, 
Lulling its cares to sleep. Over the girl. 
The long, vague past, that fled like morning dew. 
Its purified, sweet memory distills ; 
And, nearer drawn, the present lavs its hand 
Lightly in hers, and leads her far 'away. 
One face, that brightens through her cloudland 

most. 
Fairest and best beloved, is of him 
Who waits to link his future with her own. 
Most natural for her, in this calm hour. 

To feel the consciousness of love like his 

The presence of that life which flows to her, 
And wraps her in its atmosphere of joy; 
Yet not of him her thought, save as a stream 
About the roots of rushes stirs them, though 
They bend another way. The shadows fall 
Longer and darker on the northern hills, 



79 



And grows the glimmering dusk ; yet, gleaming 

still, 
Mount Hermon, like the gate of Paradise, 
Shines on a darkened world. What strange, pure 

hope. 
What deep, uplifted longing fills her heart. 
As, gazing on the parting smile of day. 
She feels her spirit stretch its arms toward 
That mountain touched with light ? A holy peace, 
Calm and yet full of rapture, spreads its wings 
Dovelike above her ; she can hear sweet sounds 
Within the distance, melting past, new and 
Yet half familiar, and she dreams that the 
Messiah's eyes — Judea's coming king — 
Look down on her from heaven. Suddenly 
The strong impression deepens, and as one 
In a calm ecstasy of gladness feels 
His soul reach up to fellowship with God, 
So Mary, turning, saw with no surprise. 
Radiant in the gloom, the angel Gabriel. 
His figure towered tall and powerful 
Within the little room, yet with such grace 
And majesty of bearing that he seemed 
A noble pillar, hung with raiment white 
And glistening as snow beneath the moon. 
Around his head a halo faintly shone 
Above its hair of gold, and from his face's 
Almost unbearable brightness, his deep eyes, 
Keen in their mighty strength and innocence, 
Yet tender with great kindness, bent on her 
The power of their light. Thus they looked 
In silence on each other, till his voice 
Glided into the stillness, sweet and low 
As alto flute notes ; silence fled not away 
But loved the sound, and poured her soul into 
It. Thus he spoke : 

'' Hail, thou that art highly 

80 



Favored, the Lord is with thee : blessed art 
Thou among women." Mary answered not — 
So strange it seemed to speak to such a one — 
But pondered in her thought the meaning of 
His words, troubled. Which Gabriel, seeing, 
Spake once again ; and 'neath his solemn gaze 
The past and present vanished like a dream, 
And all her life poised magnet-like upon 
The current of his speech, nor knew nor cared 
To know aught else. He told her how the Lord 
Had chosen her to be the mother of 
The Saviour; how her holy Son, hers and 
The Son of God, should reign upon the throne 
Of David, and his kingdom have no end ; 
How near within the future lay the birth 
Of him whose life should be the herald of 
That greater Life, God entered into man. 
And Mary, wondering, believed the word 
Of him who spake, and bowing her meek head 
She said, " Behold the handmaid of the Lord. 
Be it unto me according to thy word." 

Enwrapt she sat, vmtil, as one who feels 
A discord break the spell of harmony 
That lifted him into a higher world, 
So Mary felt her being smote with change ; 
And, looking up, beheld the empty room, 
Scented the heavy evening dew, and heard 
The night wind rustle in the harvest fields. 
An April crescent, brimmed with silver light, 
Edging with vap'rous pearl the western hill. 
Poured over her its pale, uncertain beams, 
And in its flood she knelt, to thank the Lord, 
And hold communion with her wondrous 
thoughts. 

O Earth, O Earth ! when Mary knelt that night, 
Didst thou not tremble when Love's golden chain 

8i 



Caught thee to bridge the hiatus to God? 

I seem to feel the rushing baptism 

That swept along its links to light on her — 

Christ's solitary worshiper below. 

The soft spring air, that knew not even of 

Its own brief sweetness, filled its bosom with 

The breath of Galilee, and bore it down 

Through fruit-tree groves and vineyards dimly 

seen. 
Touching the cheeks of great leaves silvery- 
tipped. 
Blew down through mountain passes, and o'er 

plains 
Where tended flocks couched dreaming, where 

the sound 
Of welling fountains rippled louder as 
The freighted zephyrs passed, blew down, blew 

down 
Over Jerusalem. Softly the moon 
Wrapped mystic street and tower and dropped its 

hush 
Upon the city's babel. Fair and high 
Rose the pale Temple on its sacred mount, 
Silent yet eloquent with the peace of God, 
That awed the passerby with something of 
Its grand, yet tender, rest. And tenderly 
The breezes passed within its holy place. 
Resting. Perhaps some forehead bared to catch 
Its fragrant breath, felt near the Infinite 
In that brief moment ; perhaps some eyes 
Turned heavenward in a sudden thankfulness. 
But still the walls echoed the mingled sounds 
Of trafific and of pleasure, and hard hearts 
Knew not whose face was brooding low that 

night. 
More beautiful and tenderer than the moon, 
More full of light and comfort than the sun. 

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THE WORD 

There is a word — one Word — ne'er spoke nor 
writ ; 

But since Time's birth each age 
Hath sought to utter it by tongue and page. 

All things seek evermore to utter it; 

Yet never was there aught 
Save One, that did express its boundless thought. 

By strange bands that great Word to soul is knit. 

Touch one, 'twill leap and shake 
The heart its fuller utterance would break. 

'Tis at the heart of Love, the soul of Wit, 

The Ideal's heavenly light 
Tempting our feet from height to greater height. 

What spirit but its mystic flash hath lit? 

Stand thou in thought apart 
Beneath the stars, — they tell it to the heart ; 

And Music, too, would fain embody it, — 

Its long Promethean flame 
Searches through sound to find itself a name ; 

And Science, Art, wrapped in their dreamings sit. 

Feeling it strive to speak 
Thoughts for which human language is too weak. 

Yet what is life save longing days that flit, 

Seeking that perfect Word 
Which none can ever tell, but all have heard? 

It is the Spirit, opening to admit 

Our lives into its own. 
That word we strive to speak is God alone. 



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Then onward, upward ! leave the shadowy pit ! 

Somewhere upon his breast, 
Souls shall in silence speak the Word — and rest. 



THE CRIPPLE 

She lies upon her weary bed 

From night till morn, from morn till night ; 
Day after day the mornings blush, 

Eve after eve the stars grow bright. 

Unmarked by her accustomed eyes. 
The constellations pale and glow ; 

Unmarked by sad accustomed thought, 
The long, slow hours come and go. 

The spring awakes, the summer wanes. 
The autumn fires, the snow lies white, — 

She almost thinks the seasons change 
In dreams of some sweet, restful night: 

While, as around her silent room 

The tides of being ever roll. 
The iron heel of suffering 

Is pressed into her aching soul. 

Yet the clear eyes, the calm face, bear 
Few traces of pain's bitter strife, 

And many a heart has learned to prize 
The lesson of her patient life. 

Only God sees the thin, clasped hands 
Raised heavenward in mute despair; 

Only God hears that heart sore tried 
Pour out its agony of prayer. 



Save when, at times beyond control, 

That heart, benumbed by years of grief. 

Grows conscious of its heavy care. 
And finds in stormy tears reHef. 

No more for her the springtime comes. 

The wild birds sing, the wild flowers blow ; 

No more for her the orchard lifts 
Its fragrant drifts of rosy snow. 

Wide o'er the happy earth float down 
Deep thrilling breaths that softly stir 

All living things to newer life 

Of blush and bloom — but not for her. 

Yet, as she smells the fresh, sweet scents 
That through the open window blow. 

And sees the curtain's lazy length 
In lullaby waft too and fro, 

The movements of mysterious change 
That make the outer world so fair, 

Creep like a spent wave through her heart. 
And wake the ghost of springtime there. 

She dreams of rippling daisy fields ; 

Of sunny woodland openings, where 
In times gone by, in dreamful ease. 

The soft winds trifled with her hair. 

And oft, as on bright, quiet days. 
She hears some organ's far off tune. 

Within her yearning bosom start 
Pale roses of a vanished June. 

What though, on cheering thought intent, 
She counts her list of blessings o'er? 

Quick tears, that will not be repressed. 
Gush for the days that are no more. 

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O tired heart and brain ! what cheer 
Can come to thee from days like these? 

What healing mystery of life 

Can give to thee its golden keys? 

Ah, not alone she keeps her watch 

From night till morn, from morn till night, 

For in the twilight of her life 

She sees the stars of Love grow bright. 

Whole days, whole weeks she lies within 

A glorious mantle of delight. 
That God, on pitying kindness bent. 

Wraps round her by his mystic might. 

And though no more she treads the hills 
Of morning with glad, healthful feet, 

She hears, in happier valley lands, 
The footfalls of the angels beat. 

And like a flower of light her soul 
Opes ever, through the passing years. 

Toward some coming wondrous change, — 
A rainbow seen through falling tears. 

Not hope revived, not sorrow healed. 

Alone that radiant vision is ; 
But the great miracle of Love, 

When Christ redeems her life with His. 



86 



OUR MOTHER'S VOICE 

Rolling up like clouds of incense 
Stand the great trees in the moonlight, 
Breathing out again in beauty 
The same Spirit that has formed them. 

Like a strong tide flows around me 
This mysterious soul of all things, 
Calling ever to my spirit ; 
And I rise and try to follow. 



THE MAN OF SORROWS 

His eyes are dark with unshed tears, 
Yet full of some hope's flooding light. 

As the full radiance of the moon 
Pierces the gloom of night. 

The crown of thorns is on his brow ; 

He heeds it not ; but sees above 
The spirit of immortal man 

Safe in the fold of love. 

O man of sorrows ! many a soul 

Feels those same thorns, knows those same 
tears, 
Till vision of his life redeemed 

Brightens beyond the years. 



87 



WHAT DOTH YOUTH KNOW OF LOVE? 

What doth youth know of Love? 
It phicks at will, 
Content in thinking everywhere its fill 
Is waiting within reach like buds in June — 
As in the soul of Music some new tune. 

What doth youth know of Love? 
The heart may try 
A thousand springs and yet none satisfy ; 
A thousand forms may touch us in the press, 
And still the spirit cry for loneliness. 

What doth youth know of Love? 
The hand, the face, 
That find their way to the soul's sacred place. 
Ah ! these come not at will ; but, having come, 
Thenceforth wherever they may be is home. 

What doth youth know of Love? 
Its need is strong. 
'Tis life's long music, not its morning song. 
Joyful the middle age that finds its own, 
And sad the same whose early dreams have 
flown. 

What doth youth know of Love? 
Age knows it best. 
Love's memories few and precious are its rest. 
God and eternity shine through dear eyes, 
And teach us of the bliss that never dies. 



THE NORTH TO THE SOUTH 

Heart of the South! 
In wild luxuriance blooming, 
Outpouring thy rich beauties half untold, 
Glowing with smiles alike for kin or stranger — 

Call'st thou me cold? 

Heart of the South — 
In wild luxuriance blooming! 
Somewhere in waiting eyes there is a sun 
That from my heart could woo thy lavish sweet- 
ness. 

And all for one. 



ON A PORTRAIT OF STANLEY 

The music of strange fancies quivers nigh 
While thus I gaze upon thy noble face, 
Where written are those many themes that lace 
The lovely story of thy destiny. 
Fathomless trial in those looks I trace, 
But virtue's victory hath set its seal 
In the proud nostril and the alert steel 
That quickens through thy fearless, mild blue eye. 
Fancy and fact have run with lightning pace 
Across thy brow, but fancy won the race. 
Thou dost not smile, but round thee I descry 
That grace which owns some tender history — 
Sweeter than I could e'er divine or touch. 
Had not my own heart written once of such. 



89 



THE UNEXPECTED 

God forced me, weeping, toward dark, sullen 
doors, 

The ending to a path of blackest night. 
Trembling with terror, I essayed the latch, 

When lo! I stood transfigured in the light. 



THE ORCHID 

Some artist, in the spacious ancient times. 
Bearing a glorious message for the world, 
Unheeded wrought, till shame and sorrow hurled 
His spirit down to death ; what we call death — 
Genius can never die. And through all climes 
His scattered message sought again the breath 
Of the earth whereto 'twas sent. And there un- 
furled 
Rare flowers fashioned by his thoughts divine. 
Springing in east and west, in north and south. 
Thriving in air or soil, in rain or drouth, — 
Strange aliens, breathing their Promethean flame. 
Suddenly from long indifference supine, 
Mankind rose, gazed, proclaimed the artist's 

name, — 
The Orchid's tardy praise filled every mouth. 



90 



THE UNKNOWN MATHEMATICIAN 

Who taught the snowflake to geometrize? 

Who trained to rhythmic movement the wind's 

feet? 
Who gave the Hght its subtle skill to beat 
The gamut of the colors, or surprise 
Heaven's bow in flashes of the raindrop's eyes? 
Who told the brook, when wind and waters meet, 
To fret itself in circles? Sure and fleet, 
Who set the spider, where the green banks rise. 
To weaving hexagons? 

Through some fine law 
The restless elements part and combine, — 
Some wisdom sweeps the orbits of the stars. 
A voice taught Flora rules without a flaw 
For packing flowers ; and a hand divine 
Wrote first for Love's high song its notes and 

bars. 



91 



A SONNET 

The largeness of the mountains is in thee, 
The airy spaces of the deep blue sky 
With their eternal calm and mystery, 

Crossed by the tempest that but comes to flee. 

A lion spirit, roaming like the sea, 

Yet full of truth's unswerving majesty, 
Glad to be bound by perfect sovereignty. 

Knowing the soul in such a bond is free. 

No more thy being to high peaks of thought 
Ascends alone, to ponder or adore, — 
No more alone thy footsteps slip or fall. 
A still, attendant light thy way hath caught : 
Truth met with kindred truth forevermore. 
That cannot part, — they tell each other all. 



92 



APR 19 ^904 



